Chapter Eleven

On Friday night, Abuela goes to Titi Mariana’s to have dinner with her and her family, while Lily hangs out at Nora’s house, leaving me alone with Patch. I’m not sure my life could get more pathetic, but here we are. The only silver lining from this week is that I got an email about an interview tomorrow morning for the cashier job at Nature’s Grocer, a hig h- end g rocery mart.

I eat a pathetic dinner of crackers and peanut butter standing at the kitchen sink, then flop onto the couch. All I have the energy for tonight is reruns of bad television and lurking on social media. From the comfort of the couch, I find myself idly navigating back to Jay Martinez’s TikTok account so I can watch that video of him and Isaiah skateboarding again. Though Isaiah seems to make plenty of appearances in Jay’s videos, I can’t find any evidence that might lead me to his actual account. So much for hate scrolling. Then my phone lights up with a call. It’s Aiden. He never calls.

“Yeah?” is how I answer because I already know what he’s calling to say.

“Whit?” he asks on the other end.

“The one and only.”

“Oh . . . hey.” Aiden pauses. When I don’t respond with anything, he goes, “So, about the other nig ht—”

“When you totally blew me off ?” I ask bluntly.

“Yeah, that. It’s just that I’ve been meaning to talk to you . . .”

“You’re calling to break up with me,” I deadpan.

“Uhhhh . . .”

I sigh. “No need to beat around the bush here. That’s why you’re calling, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but I had this whole thing prepared—”

“It’s fine, Aiden. Really.”

“It’s not like you haven’t been great,” he continues. “You have been! It’s just, you know, I kinda met someone. It’s— It’s Moose, as you may have guessed.”

This gets my attention and I sit up in bed, sending Patch darting out of my lap and into the hallway.

“Moose?” I ask. “As in, your new best friend?”

“Yeah. My new best friend.” His voice trails off. “She and I have been seeing a lot of each other.”

“She,” I repeat. “Moose is a girl.”

A pause. Then, quietly, I hear Aiden say, “. . . Yes?”

And I can’t help it.

A laugh bubbles in my chest and bursts out of me unexpectedly, like a hiccup. Another laugh follows, and soon I’m practically cackling. Moose is a girl. Moose is a girl!!! And Aiden’s been hiding that from me!

It’s not like I’ve ever been the kind of unreasonable person who would object to him befriending girls, but I definitely object to him obscuring that fact, like it’s a dirty little secret. The only logical reason for Aiden to hide something like that is because he’s been interested in Moose from the jump.

Suddenly, the way Aiden’s voice always lilted up when he said her name makes sense. It clicks why he was constantly ignoring me to go do something with Moose, why he always talked about Moose, why Moose was so involved in every facet of his life— from the new clothes he wore to the new nickname he had.

I’ve been dumped by my first boyfriend, during my favorite season, in my senior year, when almost every single thing that can go wrong has, just weeks before a dance that became a legacy in my family, for A GIRL NAMED MOOSE, and all I can do is laugh.

“Okay, jeez. I’m gonna go,” Aiden says, clearly annoyed— annoyed! As if he has a right to be!— on the other line. “Bye.”

“Bye,” I giggle. “Have fun with Moose!”

I hang up and, still giggling, I text Marisol and Sophie.

Me: As it turns out, Moose is a girl!

Me: A fact that Aiden has been hiding!

Me: And now he’s dating her!

Me: After not replying to my breakup text!!!

Me: Bahahahah skdjfsjdf

It’s mere seconds before my screen is illuminated with a FaceTime request from Sophie. I accept. Marisol joins, too.

Sophie’s the first to speak. “Okay, so, that’s a lot to process. First: Are you good?”

“I’m about to drive up to New Hampshire and egg his car.” Marisol scowls, then leans closer to the screen, squinting at me. “Wait. Are you laughing or crying?”

“I’m laughing!” I wipe at the corner of my eye. “And also crying. But from the laughing!”

The two glance at each other on their respective screens, Sophie concerned, Marisol amused.

“Because Moose is a girl! Like, of course, right? Aiden Miller was such a coward he couldn’t even tell me he’d met someone. So he made me do the emotional labor of actually breaking up with him, and now he’s free to live happily ever after with a girl named Moose. Moose! And that’s just so, so funny to me.”

“Is it possible you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown?”

Sophie asks.

“Sounds to me like she’s finally seeing Aiden for the walking dumpster fire that he is,” Marisol says sagely.

Sophie nods. “There’s no questioning that. But I can’t believe he did this to you. I wouldn’t blame you if you were hea rtbroken— breakup or no breakup. I’m so sorry!”

“I’m not. Want to know why?” I cup one of my hands around the side of my mouth for emphasis as I say, “He suuuucked. What did I even see in him?!”

“He was hot,” Sophie says simply.

Marisol shoots me a look. “See? Told you it was all physical.”

“You could do so much better than him,” Sophie says. “Goodbye and good riddance.”

“Bye, pendejo!” Marisol calls out, as if Aiden can hear. “Our bestie’s going to find someone who stimulates her mind and her body now!”

It makes me erupt into laughter, which makes Marisol laugh, which then cracks a smile from Sophie, and soon, we’re all laughing: the side- clenching, bel ly-ach ing kind of laughter that you feel in your whole body.

When we come up for air, Marisol asks, “But seriously, Whit. Are you really okay with everything?”

“You know, I am honestly not sure,” I admit. “I feel simultaneously relieved and hurt and confused and embarrassed and sort of . . . a ngry. Resentful.”

“All legit,” Sophie says. “Can we do something to cheer you up?”

I sigh. “I don’t know if I need cheering up so much as I need to punch something. Like, therapeutically.”

Marisol snaps her fingers as if an idea has just occurred to her.

“We may not be able to let you punch something, but how would you feel about stabbing a pumpkin?”

My brows furrow. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s go pumpkin-pick ing! You love pumpkin-pick ing!” she

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exclaims. “Then we can carve them and you can get some of that pent-up fr ustration out. I mean, it’s that, or we can create an elaborate catfishing scenario where I get Aiden to emotionally cheat on Moose and—”

“Okay, let’s go pumpkin-pick ing!” I cut in. “Pick me up tomorrow after lunch?”

“See you then,” Sophie says. “And block Aiden’s number, okay?”

Wiser words have never been spoken.